


Hugo Went (the vagaries of fate)

by thebeehive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Music, Fate, Hugo - Freeform, M/M, Mild Smut, Model Liam, Singer Zayn Malik, Smoking, billboard, meet cute, the vagaries of fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeehive/pseuds/thebeehive
Summary: One day, Zayn ran (literally) into a stranger on the sidewalks of New York City, and things only got stranger from there.The universe has a twisted sense of humor, and Liam Payne's abs are certainly out of this world.Based on@oh-no-it's-elletext post on tumblr:I realized that if Liam’s hugo billboard is where I read it is then it’s only like 5 minutes from Zayn’s formerly current apartment and I just really think that would make a great fic prompt 👀EDIT 1/5: Now with a second, sexy, chapter, from Liam's POV. Enjoy!
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is NOT a sequel in any way to my other fic, Hugo or Not to Go. 
> 
> Elle put into the universe a gentle request for a fic and who am I to refuse such a lovely person?
> 
> The undercut drip is very real.  
> Also: I have no idea what brand of cigarettes anybody smokes, and wasn’t sure if Zayn’s (former?) NYC apartment was on Bond street or not, but for the sake of this story it is  
> Also, also: this was supposed to be like, 1,000 words of sexy billboard fluff, but then I had ideas and it was all downhill from there :(

Zayn was in the shower when it all started. Only he wasn’t aware anything had started.

He wasn’t singing, like he often did, and he wasn’t listening to music either. Instead, he was pretending to introduce himself at a party.

“The name’s Malik. Zayn Malik. And I don’t want a fucking martini, I want a shot of whiskey.”

Zayn rinsed his hair, and tried again.

“The name’s Bond. Zayn Bond. Of Bond Street.”

Zayn made finger guns, and flicked water everywhere; he giggled, cracking himself up. He did live on Bond Street, so it all made sense in his head. 

He wasn’t sure why he was in such a good mood today, of all days, when later he would be forced to attend a party he had no desire to go to, and where he would introduce himself as Zayn Malik, singer. Only he wouldn’t tack on singer, because everyone there would already know who he was, and he would spend the entire time trying to avoid ass-kissers and sneaking out the back exits to smoke with the caterers, who were usually a chill bunch. 

He finished rinsing off, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower, grabbing his fluffiest towel and wrapping it around his waist. 

His hair was in an undercut, the sides shaved and the top pieces long, and while Zayn loved the cut and the look, he didn’t love the dreaded undercut drip - it made no sense, did the bottom wet pieces of hair, while wet themselves, slow down the dripping from the top pieces? And with no bottom or side pieces of hair the top ran more freely? Zayn didn’t understand the physics of it all. 

He was so busy holding onto the towel and pushing his dripping hair off his forehead, he didn’t notice the new billboard being put up down the street.

Zayn lived in NYC in a beautiful building in SOHO (south of Houston Street - and he never understood how the fuck Houston, Texas, where he had performed several times in concert, was pronounced differently than Houston Street - fucking America) on the top floor, in the penthouse apartment - which he secretly loved but hated telling people since it made him sound like such an arse - and his entire apartment had floor to ceiling windows. 

The bathroom had no windows and the bedroom was more private, with one long window covered in a black-out curtain, but the open-plan living and kitchen area was all floor to ceiling windows with pristine glass panes. It seemed like every other week glass-cleaners scared the shit out of Zayn (when he was staying at his place for more than a few days in-between tours or time spent in the studio) by scaling the building and cleaning the huge panes. 

Zayn stepped out of his bedroom and into the living area, still wrapped in a towel, not feeling any particular rush to get dressed. He went over to his long coffee table, piled with over sized books, and the strange mementos he loved to collect, and picked up his lighter and went to pull out a cigarette from the pack sitting on the table. He frowned, realizing the pack was empty. He walked over to his side credenza, and pulled open the top drawer. The carton that held all his packs was empty, too - Zayn shook his head, annoyed at himself for not stocking up the last time he was out. 

He sighed, dramatically. Well, he was still in a good mood, this would just be a minor inconvenience in his day. His assistant was on vacation this week, so if he wanted something done it was going to be on him. He trudged back into his bedroom, dressed in his most comfortable joggers and softest hoodie, not even bothering with a shirt, combed out his hair and pushed the damp strands to one side, grabbed his wallet and phone and lighter, then took the lift down to the lobby.

He nodded at Joe the doorman, who nodded back at him, then peered outside before giving Zayn a thumbs up, letting him know it was “all clear.” The paps weren’t usually outside unless they had been tipped off first, but Zayn liked to err on the side of caution. The rest of his building was full of rich fucks, but he was the only celebrity, in addition to being the youngest resident by many years, and Joe always looked out for him, which Zayn appreciated. 

There was an over-priced bodega several blocks down the street, so Zayn put his hood up and his head down and began to walk. He shivered, cold air hitting his chest, and he zipped his hoodie all the way up - he should have grabbed a coat, as the crisp fall air in NYC was running on the cold side today. His thoughts ran to jackets - he really wanted a new over-sized black coat, and he was so busy imagining the exact fur collar and buckle straps his new coat needed that he didn’t see the person standing, immobile, in the middle of the sidewalk, until it was too late.

“Ooof,” Zayn said, it was like hitting a brick; the person he ran into was very solid. 

The person he’d hit grunted, and stumbled to the side, causing Zayn to lurch forward as well, and it looked like they were both about to go down hard on the sidewalk, until the person caught their balance, and steadied Zayn by grabbing his arm.

“Sorry mate, sorry - shouldn’t have stopped in the middle of the sidewalk,” the stranger said, and Zayn was mildly surprised to hear a northern accent - he was used to hearing accents and languages from all around the world while he was in NYC, but hearing an accent that reminded him of home, or home adjacent was bittersweet. 

“I was so busy taking a photo I didn’t realize I was in the middle of the sidewalk - just like a bloody tourist,” the stranger laughed, the sound pleasant amidst the noise of the streets and the city. 

Zayn looked up into brown eyes, that were somehow both warm and anxious at the same time. The stranger blinked, looking directly back at Zayn, then blinked again. 

Zayn hastily stepped back; he wasn’t sure if the man recognized him or not, but he didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out. He looked to be about Zayn’s age, and he was dressed in a casual but clearly expensive tracksuit. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, stepping around the stranger, putting his head back down, and walking quicker than his normal pace to the bodega that was at the end of the block.

He walked into the store, the memory of the strangers warm brown eyes stuck in his mind. The man also had very nice lips, not that Zayn noticed. His stomach made a noise, and he realized how hungry he was, and then he walked over to the fresh made sandwiches, all thoughts of the stranger forgotten.

Several minutes later, arms loaded down with a sandwich and crisps and various other sundries, Zayn went to go wait on line. He was back to daydreaming about being Zayn Bond, ordering a shot of whiskey at a swank bar, while wearing his new, beautiful coat with the fur collar and buckles everywhere, when he heard a familiar voice say - 

“And I’ll take a carton of American Spirits.” 

That was Zayn’s smokes of choice; the person in front of him had good taste, he thought. 

Then the person turned around, purchase completed, and Zayn realized why the voice was familiar; it was the man he had run into on the street. This time, he smiled widely, showing perfect teeth while his eyes crinkled up, and Zayn felt faint - the stranger had a breathtaking smile.

“Why hello again, what are the chances, huh?” the man said.

Zayn wasn’t a fan of small talk with strangers, even if they were attractive, but he’d survived countless events making inane talk, he could do this.

“Well, since we just saw each other down the block, chances are pretty high.” Zayn tried to move forward, but once again, the man was in his way.

The man’s smile didn’t falter. “Well, of course, but still -”

“Hey, buddy, keep it moving -” the man behind the register barked, and the stranger hastily moved out of Zayn’s way.

Zayn shook his head, dumping his food on the counter so he could be rung up. “And I’ll take a carton of American Spirits.”

The cashier shook his head. “All out. The guy before you bought the last one.”

Zayn was annoyed, of course the guy with the brilliant smile took the last carton. “Oh. I’ll just take a pack then.”

“Nope. No packs either.”

Zayn sighed. “A pack of Pall Mall Reds, then, please.”

He left the bodega, disgruntled, hungry and needing a cigarette. Oh, well, there were worse problems to have, Zayn figured, and his were strictly of the first world problem variety today. 

Twenty minutes later, Zayn stretched out on his couch, feeling lazy - he had a cigarette and eaten his sandwich and crisps and was content. His stylist was due to come over in an hour for a final fitting for his outfit for the event his manager had strong-armed him into attending later that night - some NYC fashion and music celebration, or something of the sort. His phone rang as he was debating whether to kill time playing video games or if he should take a cat nap. 

He looked down at the screen, it was Stephen, his stylist, probably just calling to remind Zayn to be home.

“Hullo,” Zayn answered.

“Zayn! I am so, so sorry,” Stephen sounded out of breath and frantic. “I totally forgot I double booked today - actually I triple booked. This has never happened to me, I swear, I’m usually so organized and -”

Zayn rolled his eyes. He hated when people thought he was high maintenance or not flexible, or would react poorly to a minor hiccup in his day. (Handsome strangers swiping what should have been HIS carton aside, his thoughts betrayed him. Zayn ignored his thoughts). 

“Stephen - it’s fine - if you need to change the time don’t worry about it. What time do you want to come over?”

“That’s the problem - the other two clients are coming to my studio space in an hour, and then I’m booked the rest of the day for the event tonight - I won’t have time to come to yours. Do you mind coming to the studio? I am so, so sorry, Zayn, this never -”

“Stephen, no big deal, yeah? I’ll head on over.” 

Outwardly Zayn was all politeness, inwardly he groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was order a car to go to the upper west side for a fitting, and then head all the way back home - the whole point of Stephen coming to him was so Zayn wouldn’t have to leave. It was turning into that type of day. He ordered a private car from the app on his phone, then called the lobby to let Joe know to buzz him when the car arrived. He had about five minutes. He sighed and stood up - so much for his nap or video games. He reached for his lighter and pulled out a cigarette, turning to look out the window facing down Bond street. 

A minute later he felt the metal tip of the lighter start to get too hot against his thumb holding down the button. He hastily lit his cigarette, put down his lighter, took a long drag and continued to stare, mouth slightly gaped open, at the new billboard being put up down the street. 

The last poster sheet was being put in place, and smoothed down by a man in a bucket lift. Zayn was not looking at the man in the bucket lift. He was looking at the man on the poster. 

The billboard was an ad for fashion brand HUGO. It appeared to be an underwear ad. A shirtless man in nothing but tight, white briefs with the red Hugo logo band accentuating the veins on his lower abdomen, stood, leaning back against a wall, head tilted and lips pursed. He was standing on a bed, pillows around his legs, and he was holding onto a white duvet with one hand. He had a full sleeve on one arm and what looked like a half sleeve on the other, all in black ink. 

A part of Zayn’s brain registered that it was an underwear ad, but the rest of his brain was dreamily breathing words into the ether of his mind, only for those words to boomerang back into his conscious- words like, thigh, abs, and bulge. 

Zayn took another drag. His eyes finally landed on the face at the top of that ridiculous, rippling body. The lips looked familiar, and the eyes, while narrowed, and not open and warm and friendly, also looked familiar. Zayn had seen that face before. 

But it couldn’t be…

He was shaken out of his reverie by Joe buzzing him that his car had arrived.

“Fuck!” Zayn said with feeling, putting out his cigarette and hurrying to his bathroom to hastily swish mouthwash, and then head down to the lobby and his waiting car. 

Sitting in the car a minute later, slightly out of breath, Zayn settled back into his seat and pulled out his phone. He googled, HUGO underwear model, and looked through the results. 

He had been staring at one Liam Payne, 26 years old, born in Wolverhampton, which made Zayn smile for no reason. He thought about the man with the northern accent from the sidewalk and the bodega - that man had seemed like the furthest thing from an arrogant underwear model, and yet - Zayn remembered how solid the body he had run into had been - had his casual track suit really been hiding all that? The man was obviously in good shape, but that body on the poster reminded Zayn of a quote he had once heard describing an exceptional physique - granite wrapped in silk. 

Ugh. Here he was, waxing poetic about a strangers body. From a goddamn underwear ad no less. He was better than that. He was Zayn Malik, world famous R&B singer. And yes, maybe he dreamed of fighting crime and being a James Bond type, or better yet, a superhero, but he didn't need to be drooling over an underwear model, for fuck’s sake.

That didn’t stop him from looking to see if Liam had an instagram. He did. Zayn didn’t dare follow him - He followed so few people, that when he did follow someone new, his fans, bless their hearts, usually kicked up a big fuss if it wasn’t a family member or someone directly involved in the music or fashion industry. He could only imagine the cluster-fuck that would happen if he followed some unknown underwear model.

He spent the rest of the drive to the upper west side creeping on Liam’s instagram, and by the time he arrived at Stephen’s small studio (which was just a large, sunlit room in the stylist’s apartment), he had learned some crucial facts: Liam loved his family, which seemed to consist of several sisters and his parents, as well as an adorable nephew, he spent most (All??) of his free time at the gym (time well spent, Zayn thought, if those abs were as magnificent as they appeared on the billboard, although with photoshop today one could never tell), he had at least one dog that he loved a lot, and he was prone to early morning runs where he took pretty photos of sunrises and lakes and birds.

Zayn found Liam’s entire instagram, and persona, wholesome and charming, and even the gym photos didn’t come across as obnoxious. His favorite pic so far was a black and white photo of Liam in a simple white shirt, tattoos on display, leaning against a flashy sports car - the caption read “Uber Liam rate me 5 stars.” Zayn chuckled, once again finding something he normally would have considered rather conceited, adorable instead.

He walked up the steps to Stephens apartment, ringing the buzzer. Stephen’s voice came crackling over the speaker, still sounding frantic.

“Yes, hello?”

“It’s Zayn.” Zayn scuffed his foot and put his hands in his hoodie pockets. It was then he remembered he’d never put on an undershirt, or, more pressingly, any briefs. He didn’t care about Stephen, the man had seen him in all forms of undress, but he remembered that there would be two other clients there. He hoped it wouldn’t be anyone creepy. 

Zayn shook his head. This day.

“Zayn, lovely! Come on up!”

Zayn trudged up the stairs, then trudged up more stairs to Stephen's six floor walk-up. Fuck pre-war buildings with no lifts, Zayn thought, as he wheezed his way into the apartment. Zayn worked out quite a bit, which always seemed to surprise people, although he didn’t know why - his father had literally been a personal trainer - and he was wiry but strong. Cardio, however, had never been his strong suit - between his smoking habit and his tendency to avoid a morning run, he was huffing for breath, but trying to hide the fact that he was huffing for breath, which only made it harder to breath. 

He opened the door and froze in place. 

What were the fucking odds?  
What stars had aligned, and then crashed into each other, to cause Zayn’s day?  
Even for the madness of Zayn’s life and the madness of New York City, this was too much. 

In the middle of Stephen’s “studio” (one huge room crammed to over-flowing with clothing racks, several steamers, random mirrors and chairs, and a very harried looking assistant, currently using one of the hand steamers on what appeared to be a blue velvet cape), was the billboard down Zayn’s street come to life. 

Liam Payne, in the flesh, stood in the middle of the chaos, in nothing but a pair of tight, white Hugo briefs (a small part of Zayn’s brain noted the band on this pair of briefs was black, not red, and the words HUGO stood out stitched in white). Here was Liam - underwear model for Hugo, lover of American Spirits and taking beautiful sunrise photos on his morning runs, and owner of a pair of abs that looked unreal. 

Liam stared back, as Zayn tried desperately to hide the fact that he was catching his breath, a now impossible feat.

“Ah, Zayn, love, thank you so much for coming all the way up here, I owe you forever!” Stephen beamed at him, but his eyes were wild and his black hair, normally in a sleek bun, was falling out of a loose, frizzy ponytail. He walked over to Zayn and grasped his arm, pulling him into the room. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Redbull?”

“Uh, I’m good -” Zayn started. He glanced at Liam out of the corner of his eye as Stephen pulled him over to a rack. Liam was still looking at him. 

Stephen cut him off. “Wonderful, wonderful. Ok, now everyone this is Zayn, not that he needs an introduction,” the stylist laughed. “And Zayn, this is Liam Payne - he’s modeling for Hugo Boss, and this is Zelda, they are the new face of Rodarte.”

Zayn noticed somebody else standing next to a rack, wearing an ethereal creation of red and pink tulle with lots of black ribbon. He waved at them. “Nice to meet you.” 

They waved back, then held still as another assistant, who materialized from behind a clothing rack, began to pin back their sleeves.

He turned back to Liam. “Uh, nice to meet you.”

Liam, still a vision of tan skin and rippling muscles clad only in briefs, raised an eyebrow. “Third times the charm then?”

“Um, well -” Zayn began. He could really use another cigarette now that he’d finally caught his breath. 

“Ok, Zayn,” Stepehn was now focusing all his attention on Zayn, which was vaguely terrifying in its intensity. “If you could try everything on one last time, we might need to adjust the length of the sleeves.” 

Zayn didn’t move. 

Stephen stood there, expectantly, looking confused. He gestured to the rack, “Your outfits right here?” 

Zayn tried to whisper so he couldn’t be overheard. “I’m not wearing any pants. Err - underwear,” he corrected. 

Stephen just looked confused and a touch impatient. “Um. Ok. Well, if you’re feeling modest, you can go behind the rack?”

Zayn looked over to see one of the assistants come up to Liam, holding out a pair of trousers, which Liam took and began to put on. 

Seeing that he was distracted, Zayn took off his clothes in record time, feeling better when he had zipped up his trousers. He was by no means modest, and had spent enough time at photo shoots and fittings that any prior modesty had left him, but something about the idea of Liam seeing him naked in this setting made him uncomfortable. If Liam was to see him naked, it would be in a situation of their OWN making Zayn thought, and then tried not to blush at the audacity of his thoughts. 

He stood there, shirtless, as Stephen tutted and fussed about what belt he thought Zayn should wear. Zayn didn’t want to wear a belt, but for once he didn’t protest, he tried to covertly keep an eye on Liam. 

The model was now fully dressed, wearing a blue suit with a white dress shirt that was very, very well fitted to his body. The collar and the first several buttons of the dress shirt were undone, and Liam fiddled with his cuffs nervously while one of the assistants pinned the hem of his pant legs, shortening them up. 

Liam looked up, and Zayn should have looked away, his staring obvious, but he found he couldn’t. Liam smiled and shrugged.

“What do you think Zayn?” 

Zayn wasn’t prepared for Liam saying his name. He didn’t dislike it, but it threw him off.

“Um, it’s a nice suit. Hugo?”

“Yeah - looks like I’ll be wearing a lot of Hugo from here on out. Which is fine, I like the clothes and brand, good thing.” Liam chuckled, then looked at Zayn seriously. “You really like it?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s a nice suit.” Before he could lose courage, he added. “You wear it well.”

Liam beamed, Zayn thought his smile could be seen from space. 

“Thank you for saying so - you’re a fashion icon, you know, I always love to see what you’re wearing, so that means a lot.”

Zayn was floored. He had met a lot of models, but he’d never met anyone who seemed as genuine or sweet as Liam did. “Uh, well I wouldn’t say fashion icon, but thanks.”

While Zayn talked, Stephen helped him put on his white dress shirt, then the jacket, which was the only reason Zayn wanted to go to the event, so he could wear the jacket - well that and see what everybody else attending wore. 

“Ah, yes, the piece de resistance,” Stephen gave a dramatic flourish. “The traje de luces!”

The jacket, by Balenciaga, as was every piece in the outfit, was modeled after a traditional matador’s jacket - the shoulder epaulettes and embroidery down the front and sleeves were in bright, shining gold thread, and the jacket was very heavy. The high narrow cut of Zayn’s pants, and the short cut of the jacket with the heavy shoulders, highlighted his narrow waist and broad shoulders. The entire effect was almost costume like, but Zayn didn’t care, he loved the outfit. 

Stephen finished the outfit by adjusting a wide red belt, more of a sash really, around Zayn’s waist (“the red is to mimic the capote de brega” he insisted, Zayn rolled his eyes, he hated belts, but he didn’t protest) and then he had Zayn step into a pair of heavy black boots, carefully rolling up the bottom of the pants, and then he was done.

“Go look, go look!” Stephen shooed him towards the nearest mirror. 

Zayn looked, pleased with the result. While he may have been against bullfighting, he wasn’t against the fashion influences from the sport (did that make him hypocritical, he wasn’t sure), and he loved the outfit. He had been so preoccupied with Stephen dressing him he had forgotten about Liam until the man appeared behind him, reflected in the mirror, dressed back in the tracksuit he’d been wearing earlier in the day.

Zayn tried not to startle.

“Wow,” Liam gave him a slow up and down. “Sick jacket. Only you could pull this off.”

Zayn didn’t look away from Liam’s eyes, practically caressing him, in the mirror's reflection. He shivered, feeling naked and exposed under the heavy jacket. 

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight?” Liam said.

Zayn felt dazed. “Tonight?”

From somewhere behind him, he heard Zelda laugh. He had forgotten how close in proximity they all were in the apartment.

“Tonight - at NYC’s Fashion and Music party?”

Zayn had forgotten. Or, he hadn’t realized Liam would be there too. Which, what the fuck, why else would Liam be here getting last minute adjustments on his suit. Zayn felt like he had been one step behind everything all day. One step behind a stranger on the sidewalk before crashing into him, one step behind Liam at the bodega, and now one step behind in realizing this might not be the last he saw of Liam today.

This fucking day, god. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Zayn managed to get out.

Liam stepped back and smiled. “Great, see you there. Stephen, thanks so much for helping out Hugo on this. Zelda, hope to see you there tonight, too.”

And with that he was gone, and Zayn stood, staring at his reflection in the mirror, trying not to dwell on the vagaries of fate and the mysterious nature and cruel humor of the universe, (was today a cosmic joke?) and instead, focus on the fact that he would be wearing a kick ass jacket. 

Two hours later, Zayn stood in his apartment, staring at the now completed billboard down his street. He was supposed to be getting ready for the event, but he stood there, smoking a cigarette, eyes narrowed, wondering if he wanted to see Liam again. He did. He wanted to find out more about the underwear model who loved capturing the colors of sunrise, but he was also nervous. But why? He thought, what would James Bond do in this situation? Take no prisoners, obviously. Bond would attend the event, seduce Liam, and then still find time to leave the party to stop the theft of plutonium, or something of that sort, that was being orchestrated in some back room. 

Zayn sighed. Would James Bond go take another shower, while jerking off to the hot guy on the billboard that was even better in person? Maybe not, but that’s what he was going to do.

Another two hours, and one satisfying orgasm later, Zayn found himself in his usual spot at events like these - his back against a wall, holding his drink like a shield, trying to stay invisible. 

He thought that a real life matador would frown upon his cowardice in shame, but he couldn’t help it - Zayn had no interest in attracting the attention of the various bulls stampeding their away around the fancy party. 

He hadn’t seen Liam yet, and the several people he actually wanted to talk to, he already did. He was contemplating getting another drink, when a familiar face came into view.

“Hey there, you look amazing.” It was Zelda, and they were wearing the beautiful Rodarte dress from Stephen’s studio. 

“Thanks, your dress is beautiful, you look great,” Zayn said sincerely.

Zelda gave a slow twirl, and then an exaggerated courtesy, holding the edges of their skirt, before laughing. “Thanks. Have you seen Liam yet?” 

Zayn tried to mask his surprise. “Um, no, not yet.”

Zelda smirked. “You should talk to him, you know. Before you got to Stephens, the guy was a wreck. He kept talking about how nervous he was to see you again, and how embarrassed he was that you caught him taking a photo of his own billboard.”

“His billboard? Oh…” Zayn realized that’s why Liam had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He’d been taking a photo of his own billboard. And how was that endearing? God, Liam had a special talent for sure, Zayn thought. “I mean. I haven’t seen him yet. I don’t know.” 

“He’s right over there.” Zelda pointed to a nearby bar, where Liam was lounging, model like, against a wall, holding a drink, wearing the blue suit, and looking delectable. He was by himself. 

“Go on then, get some liquid courage and go chat him up.”

And with that they glided away, in a cloud of tulle.

Zayn sighed - he could do this. Squaring his shoulders and tightly gripping his whiskey, he walked towards the bar, imagining himself the matador and Liam the bull, ready to be conquered. But conquered in like, a sexy way, not in a violent, death way. 

Liam’s eyes lit up when he saw Zayn, and he stood up straight from where he’d been leaning. “Fourth times a charm, huh? Universe must really want us to keep running into each other. 

“Hey.” Zayn didn’t know what else to say when he stood in front of Liam. This was not a billboard, it was real life. 

“Hey yourself.” Liam smiled. “Everyone’s talking about your outfit. You look gorgeous.”

Zayn tried to calm the swooping of his stomach. “Uh, thank you. You look great too. That suit fits you really well.”

Liam’s eyes crinkled. “Thanks mate. I wanted a gray or black suit. I told them I wanted to look like James Bond, yeah? But Hugo wanted me in blue for a change.”

When Zayn heard him say the name James Bond, his decision was made for him. Who was he to fight the universe? He decided to go for it.

“Can I bum a smoke? I hear you’re packing American Spirits?”

Liam smirked, stepping closer until he was only inches in front of Zayn’s face. His eyes were no longer warm and anxious, but warm and smoldering. He reached forward and gently squeezed Zayn’s bicep. “That’s not the only thing I’m packing.”

Zayn mouth dropped in shock, before he quickly recovered. He leaned into Liam’s grip, and slowly blinked, while looking up at Liam through his lashes. He was going to use every trick he had. “I know. I’ve seen your billboard.”

Liam’s voice dropped. “Did you like what you saw?”

“Are we really going to use every fucking cheesy pickup line on each other?”

Liam giggled. He giggled. “You’re the one that asked to bum a smoke. You might as well said, come here often?”

“Well, you’re the asshole that bought the last carton of my brand, so I actually do need to bum a smoke.”

Liam stopped giggling and leaned in. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “But you didn’t answer my question - did you like what you saw?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Jerked off in the shower this afternoon to your stupid billboard. I can see it from my penthouse.”

“Penthouse, hmm? World famous singer Zayn Malik, jerkin off in his penthouse.” 

Zayn stepped so close he had to hold his whiskey to the side so it wasn’t crushed between his and Liam’s bodies. He leaned in and bent his head, so he could whisper in Liam’s ear. “You wanna come back to my penthouse, see it for yourself? Maybe model some underwear?”

Liam pulled back so he was looking into Zayn’s eyes. His lovely brown eyes were back to being warm and anxious. “I’m not just some underwear model, you know - “

Zayn cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, you also love taking pictures of the sunrise and birds. Yes, I want to see you naked and lick your abs and suck your dick, but I also want to talk and get to know ya, yeah?”

Liam whispered lowly. “You want to suck my dick?”

“Did you not hear me say I wanked off to your fucking billboard in the shower? C’mon, let’s get out of here.” And with that, Zayn put his drink down and grabbed Liam’s hand, dragging him through party to the exit, not caring who saw them. 

Later in bed afterwards, with soft brown eyes, Liam offered Zayn a smoke, and he lay there, feeling a bit like James Bond. Only luckier.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Liam's POV, this chapter is mostly an excuse for sexy times. Enjoy!

Liam couldn’t believe his luck.

Standing on the sidewalk in the middle of SoHo, NYC, on a brisk fall day, he watched the completion of a billboard with his face and body (well, mostly it was about his body, Liam was many things, but he wasn’t naive, and he knew what it took to be the “man on the box”) be put up. 

His life was surreal. 

It was about to get more so.

He had stopped to take a quick picture, watching a man in a bucket truck smoothing down poster-sheets on the billboard. Liam Payne from Wolverhampton. On a billboard in nothing but Hugo briefs for all the world to see. 

Suddenly, arm raised to take the picture and squinting against the mid afternoon sunlight in his eyes, he felt a body crash into his, knocking him sideways - he stumbled, then caught his balance, and grabbed the stranger’s arm to steady them.

“Sorry mate, sorry - shouldn’t have stopped in the middle of the sidewalk,” Liam said, terrified that some native city dweller was about to yell at him. “I was so busy taking a photo I didn’t realize I was in the middle of the sidewalk - just like a bloody tourist.” 

Liam gave a nervous laugh, and the stranger looked up and they made eye contact. Liam blinked. He looked into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen - they were like pools of dark tawny bourbon, framed by luscious black lashes. He blinked again, taking in the strangers entire face. Zayn Malik. International R&B singer. But no, it couldn’t be.

The stranger (Zayn?) stepped back. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled in a distinctive accent, pulling his hood further over his head, stepping around Liam, putting his head back down, and walking away.

Liam stared open mouthed, watching Zayn walk down the street (and even his walk was distinctive, somehow both awkward and graceful at the same time), and without thinking, he followed. He couldn’t believe one of his favorite singers of the past five years had literally run into him on the sidewalk while he watched the most flattering picture of his abs and bulge that would ever exist be put up. All in real time. 

He followed Zayn into a fancy corner Bodega. Liam didn’t know what he was doing, or why he had reverted to stalking a man he didn’t know, but he busied himself pretending to look at gum while watching Zayn peruse the freshly-made sandwiches. Stars, they’re just like us, he thought nonsensically, watching Zayn pick out a bag of crisps next. He realized he looked like he was loitering, so he went up to the register. When it was his turn to be rung up, he realized he hadn’t so much as grabbed a pack of gum. He frantically tried to think what he could buy, and then a thought, unbidden, came to mind.

“Uh, I’ll take a carton of American Spirits.”

He remembered reading an article stating that was Zayn’s smoke of choice. He’d never smoked Spirits, but desperate times and all that.

He turned around, purchase completed, to see Zayn standing right behind him, once again making intense eye contact. He couldn’t help his smile.

“Why hello again, what are the chances, huh?” 

Zayn shifted his purchases in his arms. “Well, since we just saw each other down the block, chances are pretty high.” 

“Well, of course, but still -”

“Hey, buddy, keep it moving -” the man behind the register barked, and Liam hastily moved out of Zayn’s way.

***

The hour was late, and Liam's tongue was in Zayn’s mouth. 

His hot, soft mouth, that he couldn’t get enough of. They were on the lift up to Zayn’s infamous penthouse apartment, and Liam didn’t understand how he had arrived at this moment, other than to thank the vagaries of fate. Seeing Zayn at Stephen’s studio while they were being fitted, and then seeing him again at the party, Liam thought the universe was sending him a strongly worded message - practically yelling in his face - and who was he to ignore the universe? Especially when said universe hand-delivered one Zayn Malik to him, even going so far as Zayn telling him he had jerked off in the shower thinking of Liam’s billboard (and he had almost passed out and then wanted to pinch himself when Zayn told him, and then repeated that salacious fact - surely he was dreaming?). 

But the warmth of Zayn’s mouth and the hardness of his cock through his matador-style pants felt very, very real. And he had wanted to suck Liam’s cock - Liam pushed Zayn against the walls of the lift, trying to meld their bodies together with Zayn’s sexy wish echoing in his head. 

The lift stopped, the doors opening right into the penthouse. He broke the kiss, licked his lips, and looked into Zayn’s dark eyes.

“C’mon, Leeyum,” Zayn breathed against his mouth, and then proceeded to turn and drag Liam, grip tight like burning on his bicep, through the living area.

He tried to look around and take in the swanky interior and the amazing view - there were no lights on in the penthouse, but the huge windows let in the bright lights of the city, and how did Zayn ever sleep, he wondered - before Zayn shoved him through a doorway and into a dark bedroom. 

Liam blinked, trying to adjust to the dark room, and then he blinked again as Zayn pulled back a heavy blackout curtain that covered a floor to ceiling window. 

“Are you shitting me?” Liam laughed.

He could see straight down Bond Street from Zayn’s bedroom window, which afforded him an unobstructed view of his billboard. Liam stared at his face. His giant face stared back.

He turned to Zayn, who shrugged out of his very expensive-looking matador jacket and carefully set it on a chair in the corner of the room. The room had a huge, luxe looking bed, unmade and covered with various throws and blankets, and dark-hued, heavy wood furniture lined the walls. Liam watched Zayn remove his heavy boots, take off his sash-like belt and his pants, showing his legs, which Liam saw were covered in just as many tattoos as the rest of him, and then he took off his shirt and undershirt, leaving him in tight black briefs. His skin glowed in the reflection of the city lights bleeding through the window, his hair was mussed, and the muscles in his back flexed as he bent over to pull his socks off. He turned around, and Liam realized he was unconsciously palming his dick through his suit pants, mouth dry, watching Zayn undress.

“Sorry - wanted just to rip my clothes off and jump on you,” Zayn smirked, “or better, have you rip my clothes off. But shit’s on loan from Balenciaga, so gotta be careful with it. Is your suit on loan?”

“Uh no, it’s Hugo, so it was gifted -” Liam was cut off as Zayn stalked towards him and roughly grabbed his jacket lapels, practically tearing the jacket off his shoulders - his shirt followed, and Liam thought he heard some of the buttons pop off, and then Zayn reached underneath the waistband of his suit pants, fingers eagerly skimming over hip bones and under his navel, before yanking up his undershirt and throwing it into some dark corner of the room. The cool air of the bedroom made Liam shiver, nipples tightening, and Zayn stepped forward, whispering into his ear.

“Take your pants off, yeah? Ever since the fitting I - I need to see you,” Zayn whispered hotly, and Liam was only too happy to oblige, pushing his pants down, and then he lost his balance when he tried to take his shoes off at the same, falling back onto the bed. 

He giggled, realizing how ridiculous he looked, and he quickly removed his shoes and socks, THEN his pants, and then sat in nothing but his Hugo briefs on the edge of the bed, watching the play of shadow and light ripple across Zayn’s features as he stepped closer until he was in between Liam’s legs.

“Um, Liam, I know we just met…”

Liam laughed, and reached out to trace the dark smear of wings on Zayn’s collarbone, his fingers sliding down to pull on a nipple, smiling at Zayn’s sharp inhale. “We’ve actually met several times today.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I know.” He looked out the window towards Liam’s billboard, and then turned back, a mischievous look upon his face. “You know how I said I’d suck you off?”

Liam reached out and pulled Zayn closer, hands firm on his waist, and then lifted him up, until he was straddling his bare thighs. “Yeah, I didn’t forget.” he said, hearing his own voice suddenly husky. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Zayn’s soft, warm mouth. He kissed him, and then licked his bottom lip, slowly tasting, then pulled on his bottom lip, sucking on it gently, then sucking it harder, and hearing Zayn’s low moan.

Zayn pulled back. “Do me a favor, yeah?”

Liam didn’t hesitate. “Anything.”

“Can you, uh, kinda - do the billboard pose while I blow you?”

Liam looked at him in disbelief. Zayn looked both sly and hopeful, somehow, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide; his hair had fallen out of it’s style when they had been in the lift, and it fell in soft waves over his forehead and down to his ears. Liam looked out the window, seeing once again his face and his crotch, blown up to epic proportions. He reached forward and pinched Zayn’s side.

“Ow - what the fuck Leeyum?” 

“Oh, wanted to make sure I’m not dreaming - that I’m actually in your bedroom and this is really happening.”

“You’re supposed to pinch yourself!”

“Hmm, no. I think you pinch the other person,” Liam tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. 

Zayn scooted forward, and Liam could feel how hard he was through the thin layers of their briefs. 

Zayn pouted. “You said anything.”

“I did. Don’t know what I was thinking -”

“You’re thinking about my mouth on your dick,” Zayn smirked, then leaned in for a kiss, mouth already parted open and his very pink tongue visible.

Liam melted into the kiss, opening his mouth and tilting his head, groaning deep in his throat when he felt Zayn softly sucking on his tongue, warm heat spreading down his spine when he felt clever fingers gently scratch down his back. The bed he sat on was comfortable, Zayn’s lips were everywhere, and Liam felt his cock throb in time with his heartbeat. 

He reminded himself that, whatever this fever dream in the middle of New York City was, he had to make the most of his night with Zayn. 

They kept kissing, hot and wet and exploring. Zayn wouldn’t stop sucking on his tongue, and Liam started moving his hips, feeling how hard they both were; the constant friction and rubbing made him soak the front of briefs, and he moaned around Zayn’s tongue. 

Liam abruptly pulled back, lifting Zayn off his lap, then he turned to crawl across the bed. He head Zayn let out a sharp wolf whistle.

“Did you really just fucking whistle?” Liam wondered, as he used the wall to help pull himself to a standing position since there was no headboard.

“Nice ass, babe,” Zayn giggled. “Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.”

“Is that the saying?” Liam laughed.

He remembered to grab one of the many throws scattered over the bed, and he stood up to his full height, feet sinking into the mattress, leaned back against the wall, duvet gripped in one hand and his other hand resting against his leg, making sure to widen his stance, turning his leg to the side, just like in the billboard pose. He put on his best sultry expression, and tilted his head. Zayn stood at the end of the bed, looking like Christmas had come early.

“This work?” 

“Yeah, yes” Zayn said, voice breathy. “Hold on.” He went over to the chair he had put his clothes on, and grabbed his phone, holding it up. “Can I?”

Liam gave a put-upon sigh, but the idea of Zayn wanting to take a picture of made him harder, even though he felt mildly embarrassed. “Yeah, but those better not get out, or I’ll be in big trouble.”

“I’m not going to share these with anyone, are you kidding?” Zayn snapped a couple pics, while Liam posed, and then he put the phone down, and crawled onto the bed, panther like, making his way over. He stopped in front of Liam, putting his hands on his calves, and slowly running his hands up and down his legs. He felt his calves, and the back of his knees, and then his thighs, and Liam felt like he would combust from the anticipation. 

Zayn started gently mouthing and sucking on his inner thighs, and Liam groaned.

“Fuck, Zayn. Stop teasing.”

“Hmm, I’ll get there.” Zayn appeared to be in no hurry though.

He kept biting, and then licking his way up, and Liam felt so warm and compliant yet the tension in his lower abdomen wound tighter - the contrast between these two feelings kept him on edge, and he felt like he wasn’t getting enough air. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so turned on.

“Zayn, god, please,” Liam begged, hips thrusting into the air when he looked down to see Zayn’s dark head in between his legs, mouth open and eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks as he made his way up Liam’s legs. He dropped the duvet to run his hand through Zayn’s hair. He tugged on the strands gently, listening to Zayn’s pleased noises, then tugged harder, and was rewarded when Zayn groaned, muffled by his thighs. 

Zayn finally looked up, and didn’t break eye-contact as he slid Liam’s briefs down, freeing his cock. 

“Better than a billboard,” Zayn mumbled, and Liam was going to tease him, but then he opened his mouth and started sucking on his sensitive head, and nothing else mattered.

“Ah, yes, like that,” Liam groaned, and the lyrics to one of Zayn’s sexier songs came into his head, ‘now I’ll fuck her ten times cause I don’t get bored,’ and when he looked out the window he could see his billboard and when he looked down he saw Zayn on his knees, and this might be one his luckier days, and Liam didn’t want it to end, but he had been on edge for so long though he wasn’t going to last. 

Zayn opened his mouth wider, sucking past the head and down his length. Liam felt enveloped in tightness and warmth, and it was almost too good. Zayn’s eyes burned when he looked up, and Liam felt the tension in his legs from holding the pose, and he could feel the sparks start at the base of his spine; he was so close.

“Zayn, feels so good, your mouth.” 

Liam tugged his hair in warning, but Zayn sucked harder, bringing a hand up grip the base where his mouth couldn’t reach, and he began twisting his wrist while his mouth continued a hard suck. 

“Zayn, babe, gonna come, I’m gonna come.” 

Zayn popped off, and suddenly stood up on the bed, pushing his tongue into Liam’s mouth while his hand quickly stripped his cock, up and down, and Liam gasped around Zayn’s mouth, stomach tightening, before he came, long and hot, shooting all over Zayn’s hand, which didn’t stop moving until he started to soften.

He closed his eyes, feeling the cool wall on his back, and tried to catch his breath for a moment. “Ah, felt so good. Want to make you feel good, too, babe, let me-” He opened his eyes and moved forward, intending to get Zayn off as hard as he’d just come, but Zayn leaned forward, hand blurring on his own cock, and Liam realized he was using Liam’s come on his hand as lube.

“So fucking hot, Zayn,” Liam groaned, and then he was being kissed, and it was more tongue than anything else, and he almost wanted to go again, and then Zayn moaned into his mouth, body convulsing, and Liam could feel hot streaks of come all over his stomach. 

Zayn pulled back, and before Liam could say anything, he dropped to his knees again, and licked up the streaks of his own come on Liam’s abs, tongue rubbing between each muscle, and Liam’s cock twitched. 

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he groaned, and Zayn just laughed, then fell back against the bed, looking exhausted, and Liam laid down and joined him. 

They lay there, catching their breath. Liam looked over at Zayn - his eyes were closed and he was coming down from his orgasm high, and all he wanted to do was run his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s funny, init?” Liam said quietly.

“Whats it.” Zayn mumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Liam smiled, looking out the window into the city lights. “This morning we didn’t know each other-”

“And now we’ve gotten to know each other a little better, yeah?”

Liam giggled. “You could say that.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Hey,” Zayn rolled over, facing Liam, propping his head on his hand. “Can I actually bum that smoke now?”

Liam grinned. “Yeah, I have a pack, hold on.” He got up and searched until he found his pants on the floor, pulling out his pack and a lighter. He came back to bed, and offered one to Zayn.

“I’ve never actually smoked Spirits,” Liam said thoughtlessly, lighting up.

“Then why’d you buy ‘em?”

“Erhm, well. I was flustered and panicked - I remembered reading that you smoked them, so - ” he could feel himself blushing.

Zayn looked sly, taking an inhale. “Leeyum. Why were you flustered?”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Oh, maybe cause one of the world’s most beautiful and talented men had just barreled into me-”

“Barreled?” Zayn was indignant. “Bro, you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk-”

“And I’m fucking glad I did,” Liam cut him, off, leaning forward for a long, long kiss. 

Zayn kissed him back, then smiled, soft and sweet. “Fucking glad you did, too.”


End file.
